“I'm a staunch monogamist. In practice, if not in theory. I can't help it. Do I acknowledge the oppressive, regressive nature of sexual exclusivity? Yes. Do I want that exclusivity very badly for myself? Also yes. There's probably some sort of way in which that's not a paradox. Maybe I believe in love.”

“Maybe...you'll fall in love with me all over again.""Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?""Yes. I want to ruin you.""Good," I said. "That's what I want too.”

“I did what I had to do in that moment, and I'm proud of myself for it. I was hurting, yes, and maybe I overreacted, and but I can still feel, so there's hope for me. The one's who've forgotten how to feel, those are the ones who are lost.”

“Maybe I'm not as intimidated by the world, by people. The worst thing that people can really do is say 'no' to you. And 'no' isn't that bad because eventually it helps point you in the right direction, I think. Helps you find 'yes.”

“I'll do it. I said I would. And, though I can't deny I've never thought of doing something like that, it appeals to me simply because yo want it so badly. I can't seem to help myself. I want to please you. I love to please you.”

“Are you okay?" Bill asks.Oh, these questions. I could say:"Yes," which would mean, "No.""No," which would mean, "No, but I'm probably not going to tell you what's the matter anyway.""Yeah," which would mean, "I've been better.""I guess," which would mean, "If you press me, I will probably give you some information.""I don't know," which would mean, "I am breaking down, take what you want - it's all lying in piles of smoky, burning debris on the floor anyway, and I want you to take some pleasure in it. Rub it on your body, you bastard. Love it. Yes, I have post-traumatic stress disorder. Yes, my relationship with Becca is falling apart. Yes, I am spiraling downward. Yes, yes, yes, okay?Everything is fucked up! Is that what you want to hear? Is it? Is it?""I don't know," I say.”